The memory of being passed between them—Marco's mouth, Stefano's hands, Matteo's quiet commands—sent a fresh wave of heat through my system. My face burned at the reminder of how completely I'd surrendered to them.
"The forest taught me that alpha pheromones are basically biological roofies," I shot back, though the effect was somewhat undermined by how I had to swallow hard mid-sentence as his fingers traced idle patterns on my inner thigh. "My heat-addled brain wasn't exactly making rational decisions at the time."
"And what's your excuse now?" Matteo asked quietly, moving to stand behind the bench, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "No heat. Triple suppressants. Yet here you are"—his fingers squeezed gently—"responding to our touch like you were made for it."
"I'm not responding," I insisted, even as his thumbs found knots at the base of my neck that made my eyes want to roll back in my head. "I'm enduring. Like a prisoner of war being subjected to psychological torture. Geneva Convention violations happening right here in Aunt Akiko's garden."
Stefano's hand cupped my jaw, turning my face back to his. "Your aunt and uncle seem quite taken with us," he said, his thumb stroking my cheek with deceptive gentleness.
The casual mention of my guardians sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the evening air. "Leave them out of this," I said, my voice sharper now. "They have nothing to do with whatever game you're playing."
"Everything is connected, little prince," Marco said, his hand sliding higher on my thigh. "Your comfort, your safety, your little world here with them—all of it exists because we allow it. Because we've deemed it suitable."
"Are you threatening them?" I asked, a knot of genuine fear forming in my chest. Aunt Akiko and Uncle Jiro were innocent—elderly caretakers who'd shown me nothing but kindness for eight years.
"Not threatening," Stefano corrected, his eyes never leaving mine. "Explaining reality. Your cooperation ensures their peace remains undisturbed."
"You bastard," I whispered, genuine fury building beneath the fear and unwanted arousal. "They have nothing to do with this. They're innocent. If you so much as look at them wrong, I'll?—"
"You'll what?" Stefano asked mildly, his thumb pressing harder against my cheek. "Run to daddy? Try to fight us? Both options end badly for those elderly caretakers you're so fond of."
"My father will?—"
"Your father," Stefano interrupted, "is more concerned with his business than your happiness. Why do you think he kept you isolated all these years? He's playing a longer game than you realize."
"Wait until he hears about this," I hissed, finding my backbone beneath the haze of unwanted arousal. "His pet security team going rogue, threatening his son, making demands. He'll have you skinned alive and turned into very attractive but ethically problematic furniture."
Something that looked disturbingly like amusement flickered across Stefano's face. "Is that so? You're going to tell daddy that his bodyguards are being mean to you?"
"Not mean," I corrected, trying to inject venom into my voice despite the way Marco's hand was inching dangerously close to where I was embarrassingly hard. "Completely fucking psychotic. There's a difference, and I'm sure even my emotionally stunted father can appreciate the distinction."
Stefano's smile was slow and dangerous, like a predator who'd just spotted particularly entertaining prey. "Go ahead. Tell him. But first…"
He reached into his jacket with his free hand, pulling out what looked like a sleek, high-end smartphone. With a few deft swipes, he turned the screen toward me, his other hand still cupping my face.
My blood turned to ice water in my veins.
There I was, in the forest, trembling, my lips swollen and eyes glazed with heat as I begged—actuallybegged—for their touch. The video was crystal clear, high-definition, capturing every humiliating detail of my complete surrender. My voice, desperate and needy, echoed from the small speaker: "Please, I need you, I need all of you…"
"Oh, fuck me," I whispered, the memory crashing back with brutal clarity. Those cameras. The ones Stefano had casually mentioned during our forest "adventure" six months ago. The ones I'd completely forgotten about in my heat-addled state, dismissed as an alpha intimidation tactic rather than an actual fucking surveillance system. "You kept footage of me during my heat? That's a new level of depraved, even for three alphas with god complexes and boundary issues."
My face burned hot enough to light a cigarette from three feet away as I watched myself—writhing, begging, completely wanton—while my body responded with traitorous interest. Because apparently watching myself fall apart in their hands was now officially on the list of Things That Inexplicably Turn Leo On, right between Being Threatened by Alpha Mafia Types and Inappropriate Public Displays of Dominance.
"The cameras," I managed, hating how breathy my voice sounded. "You actually had surveillance in the forest. I thought that was just alpha posturing—some bullshit line to make me behave."
"We never lie about security measures," Stefano replied, his thumb tracing the pulse point in my neck where my heart was now hammering like it was trying to escape my body throughmy throat. "Multiple angles, excellent resolution. All properly archived."
The screen switched to a different angle—this one showing me bent over Stefano's knee, ass in the air, face contorted with unmistakable pleasure as his hand connected with my skin. The audio captured my desperate moan with perfect clarity.
"Oh God," I groaned, unable to tear my eyes from the screen even as mortification scorched through me. "I sound like a porn star auditioning forDesperate Omegas 9: Forest Fever."
But even as I said it, heat pooled low in my belly. For six months I'd been touching myself to fragmented memories of that forest encounter—hazy, incomplete flashes that never quite satisfied no matter how hard I tried to recreate them. Now here was the full HD director's cut with surround sound, and my body was responding like someone had flipped a switch labeled Desperate Omega Mode: Activate.
"You can't just—that's illegal!" I spluttered, trying to focus on outrage rather than the way slick was already gathering between my thighs. "Recording someone in a compromised state?—"
"Not when it's security footage on property we're paid to protect," Stefano corrected smoothly, his eyes tracking every micro-expression that crossed my face. "Not when the subject is having a medical emergency that requires… intervention."
I could smell him—pine and winter and raw alpha dominance—intensifying as he registered my arousal. Marco shifted closer on the bench, his thigh pressing against mine as he leaned in to watch the video over Stefano's shoulder.
